So Close
by White Rose Withering
Summary: Beware of Series 4 Spoliers. A tickle between the shoulder blades was the only way to describe it. Use your imagination.


**Disclaimer:** Spooks and all it's characters belong to Kudos and the BBC.

**Author's Note: T**his takes place four days after the Series 4 Final, so beware of Spoilers!  
I've had this idea in my head for so long, I'm so happy that I've finally gotten it down on paper. The title is basically the idea of the Fic.  
All comments welcome. Enjoy and Thanks for taking time to read it! (Edited on the 6th of July to make it easier to read)

**So Close, Yet So Far Away**

If it had been just the local press having a field day, it would have been easy enough to ignore, but it was plastered all over the nationals. After four days you would have thought that the scum of the journalism world would have got tired and gone in search of a footballer running his brand new BMW into a lamppost or something just as vulgar. But no, they were quite happy camping outside Thames House and molesting the staff as they tried to go about their daily routine. Still content with trying to bribe nurses into letting them have an exclusive interview with the wounded MI5 officer.

At least the police investigation had stopped and the Special Branch lackeys had crawled back under the rocks from whence they came. There were only so many times that someone could be dragged into a police station at all hours before they started hurling verbal abuse at the interrogating officer.

Whitehall had hoped that the security service would put the misfortunate incident behind them and return the focus to Britain's national security.

Unfortunately, that theory sounded perfect on paper and turned out to be bad in practise.  
The grid was a viper's nest of paranoia. With impact of Angela Wells turning on the service, everyone was eyed with the same suspicion. Never before had there been so much collective gossip. Everyone refused to go anywhere alone, even to carry out the most trivial of tasks. The security team were just as bad, refusing to stay until the night staff clocked on.

It was ridiculous as some no name MP, housewives favourite according to the latest polls, had pointed out during an interview. How the hell is MI5 supposed to protect Britain from terrorist attack when they can't even protect their own officers?

xxx

In a weak attempt to block out the past week, Harry had accepted an invitation for a drink from an old friend. It had worked for a while, a very short while. It was only as Mark showed off his new wedding ring for the tenth time, did Harry actually realise that he hadn't heard a damned thing he said. Not that Mark seemed to notice.

Harry was almost grateful when his friend went to the bar for refills of the whiskey. Not that it made any different. No amount of alcohol would change the effects of stress on his team. One person in particular.

Strange that the one person that had been physically hurt during all of this was so low down the list. It was dreadful to say but once Adam was in the capable hands of the doctors and nurses, he was no longer the priority. Harry couldn't do anything more for him.

Jo was just the same. Though the bruises on her wrist hadn't faded, her cruel reminder of her time with Angela, she was no longer his concern. For the time, she was Diana Jewel's. Only she could help Jo get over her period as a hostage.

No, the subject of Harry's concern usually clouded his thought for a completely different reason.

He knew from the moment that he read her file just how difficult it would be for her, but he had faith in her. To her credit, she had pulled it off spectacularly, but at a cost. It wasn't until afterwards that he realised just how much it had cost her. It had taken him a long time to see that she wasn't as strong as he thought she was. She could dress it up and put on a brave face, but he had seen the mask slip. He'd seen just how vulnerable she really was.

It had been late; Harry had just come back from the hospital. He hadn't expected to see anyone still working. She'd heard him come through the pods and straightened up. Her hands removing any trace of tears from her cheeks. The smile that she had given him had been completely out of odds with her eyes. She had tried to hold it together but failed, miserably. He had taken her into his office and poured her a large brandy. Her hands had been shaking so badly, she'd almost dropped the glass. It had been heartbreaking to watch. Even more so because Harry knew he couldn't do a damn thing to help. So he did the only thing he could. He bundled her into a pool car and had her driven home.

Of course she had come in the next day, with no knowledge of her breakdown. She had grown distant. Her tone of voice heated, yet her eyes were so cold. She had been totally impassive when he had approached her, implying that he must have imagined it. He almost wished he had.

Even the rest of the team had noticed how isolated she'd become. Barely speaking to anyone, burying herself in her work. Harry couldn't count how many conversations about her with various members of staff had taken place. Unfortunately, it was no longer an internal problem. Juliet Shaw had been informed and had floated the idea of sending her to Tring past his desk. As much as he hated to admit it, maybe Juliet had a point. Maybe talking to a team of professionals would help. But there was always the possibility that it would only make things worse.

With the bar becoming even more crowded and Mark still waiting for service, Harry was tempted to leave. There were numerous tasks to be done on the grid, not to mention a stack of paper work that still needed filing. Nothing that couldn't wait until tomorrow morning, but he was tempted just the same.

His gaze was drawn towards the entrance. Both early departures and late arrivals, huddling together to keep out of the rain. Harry had always found real people fascinating to watch. There were never layer upon layer of lies, hidden agendas or questionable intentions with real people, or at least not to the degree that Harry was used to. They had an innocence that was almost impossible to find in the service, a naivety to the world around them. It was refreshing to be around.

One face in particular held a certain fascination for him. The way her hair curled around her face. The crystal clear blue of her eyes that even from across the room was staggering. The same multi coloured scarf that went with everything she wore. If Harry's glass hadn't been half full, he would have seriously doubted her being there. He would have tried to convince himself that he was seeing things. But there was no mistaking her laugh, her face practically lit up with it.

A weight suddenly was lifted from Harry's shoulders. He hadn't even realised it had been there. The tension that had been caused by her frosty disposition had melted away with the realisation that she was going to be alright. That she was dealing with the torment that Angela had caused her in her own way, the only way she knew how.

He watched her with her friends for a moment longer. Enjoying the fact that she was smiling again. She had the most dazzling smile that he'd ever seen.

He found Mark at the bar, regaling a waitress with his tales of a Las Vegas wedding. Still no closer to getting those drinks. Harry thanked him for the drink and promised him another one in the not so distance future. To which the newlywed happily agreed.

Even at the door, he couldn't resist a last look back. One last chance before he went back to being her boss. Though he had to breathe past the physical pain it caused, it was worth it just to see the way her nose crinkled when she laughed.

xxx

A tickle between the shoulder blades was the only way to describe it. Along with the familiar feeling that she was being watched. She had gotten so used to it working for MI5 that it almost became impossible being surrounded by real people.

It wasn't the same as in the field, it wasn't the feeling that someone was dissecting her with their eyes. It was more distinguished. Almost as if she were only a few feet away from a friend, someone whom she cared deeply about.

With great difficulty she ignored the name that came to mind.

Briefly she glanced at the foyer and let her mind wonder. She watched the rain drops roll down the glass doors as they swung shut. Her eyes just picking out a shadow as it disappeared into in the November drizzle.


End file.
